


Fill Me Up

by darke_wulf



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darke_wulf/pseuds/darke_wulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>This will be a repository for my one-shot and drabble fills for the Hobbit kink meme.<br/></b><br/>Chapter 1 - Bilbo uses the ring during the BoFA to save Thorin, but gets injured in the process.<br/>Chapter 2 - On a cold night, Dwalin decides to use his brother for warmth.  Balin doesn't appreciate this decision.<br/>Chapter 3 - Kíli and Ori face the hazards of being slight dwarfs.  Thank goodness for Bilbo.<br/>Chapter 4 - Thorin's loss is Thranduil's gain.<br/>Chapter 5 - Bilbo is a dwobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For Want of A Nail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/2235.html?thread=3409851#t3409851):  
> Bilbo uses the ring during the BoFA to save Thorin's life, as well as the life of his nephews. Bilbo gets grievously injured in the process. Cue the dwarves trying to save his life and Thorin mad with grief at the idea of losing Bilbo. Up to you whether Bilbo dies or not, but either way, make me cry.
> 
>  
> 
> _Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making money from them. This is more book!verse then movie!verse - no Azog._
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning!! Character Death, Major Angst**

  
_For want of a nail the shoe was lost._  
 _For want of a shoe the horse was lost._  
 _For want of a horse the rider was lost._  
 _For want of a rider the message was lost._  
 _For want of a message the battle was lost._  
 _For want of a battle the kingdom was lost._  
 _And all for the want of a horseshoe nail._  
 _~ Proverb_

******

Thorin cursed himself as he took in the battle, the death and destruction surrounding him finally breaking the hold the gold fever had claimed on him. He sent off a quick prayer to Aulë to see his companions safely through the day. The Halfling had been wise in his efforts to avoid bloodshed; Thorin realized now he had let his greed blind him.

He was ashamed of his cruel, dishonorable words and actions at the gate. Of them all, only Bilbo had been thinking clearly. What use were gold and jewels, if none of his company was left alive to enjoy them? He ached to see the hobbit once more and beg his forgiveness, but he could feel Fate working against him. There would be much death dealt this day, and he did not think he would be seeing the sun rise, regardless of which side took the battle. He only hoped that their hobbit had left the field when the goblins appeared and the battle became inevitable. The bloody fighting was no place for such a gentle being, and Thorin did not want to see him paying for the dwarf’s sins.

Regardless of Fate’s plans, though, Thorin was determined to take as many of his enemies with him as he could before his time finally came. He fought with a berserker's fury, and was soon covered in the black blood of the attacking goblins and wargs. Even in the midst of battle, however, he kept his eyes on the members of his loyal company - at least as best he could in the surrounding chaos.

Thus it was that he saw both Fili and Kili felled and, as a great roar of denial and despair left him, he surrendered himself completely to his rage. Much to his eventual sorrow. Had he but watched them each a little longer, he would have seen first one, then the other mysteriously dragged off the battlefield by some invisible force, moving in fits and spurts to best avoid the melee surrounding them. He would only later find out that, thanks to this intervention, both had received aid in time. While their recovery would be long and arduous, recover they would, and the line of Durin would continue.

None of this was known to him as he fought, however. He was certain that his sister-sons had been killed, and he was determined to pay their murders back a hundred-fold.

Despite his prowess, he eventually found himself separated from his allies and soon after became overwhelmed. It was impossible for him to fight all his attackers, and he began taking more and more damage. And still he continued fighting, taking less and less care with where he swung his sword, for there were only enemies to strike.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a goblin moving to go around and approach him from his rear. He was already fighting off three others, and knew he would not be able to stop its attack in time. He tensed, preparing for a blow which did not come. He did not know what could have delayed the goblin, but he was not going to question his luck. He finally finished off the last of the goblins in front of him, then quickly swung his sword around in a powerful arc, intending to engage his latest attacker…

…only to find the goblin already downed, bleeding from multiple stab wounds, form unmoving. And yet his swing still found a target, stopping suddenly, seemingly caught in thin air. He watched as blood flowed over his blade and down onto the ground from an unseen – invisible – source.

“No,” he whispered, quickly dropping his sword and praying to all the Valar that he was wrong in his suspicions, all the while a well-loved companion’s story of escape thanks to a ring of invisibility ran through his mind.

His prayers went unanswered. Moments later the long-knife the hobbit had named Sting became visible, covered in black blood, as it fell to the ground with a metallic ring that seemed to echo in Thorin’s ears. An ominous thud followed and two small divots appeared in the muddied field, quickly followed by two small, delicate handprints above them.

“No!” Thorin cried, ignoring the battle around him as he collapsed to his knees on the ground and reached out towards those prints.

A sob left his throat, as his hands indeed found a solid, bloody form just before it collapsed towards the ground.

“No, no, no – please, Bilbo, no,” he mumbled as he pulled the body in to his chest. He ran his hands down invisible arms until he found two hands and then checked the fingers on both until he found the damnable ring. He yanked it off, throwing it to the ground without hesitation or a second thought and letting out another sob as his burglar finally appeared before him.

A gaping, death-dealing wound cutting through his small body just above the mithril shirt he wore.


	2. Naught But Dwarflings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for [this fill](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?view=4024898#t4024898) at the Hobbit kink meme:
> 
> The night is ridiculously cold, and Dwalin is nearly freezing his arse of. So he decide that the best and most sensible thing is to do something he has not done since he was much, much younger. And that is to sneak under the covers with Balin.
> 
> Balin is not to happy at having a freezing cold younger brother curling himself around him, and they begin to bicker like a pair of much younger dwarfs.
> 
> The two of them manage to wake up the rest of the company.
> 
> +100 if Thorin is half awake and think that it's Kili and Fili who are making a fuss, and yell for them to settle down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I’m not making money from them._   
> 

Dwalin grumbled as he attempted to get comfortable in his bedroll. Long used to travel and sleeping on hard, rocky ground, this usually would not be of any trouble for the large dwarf. However, the night was truly frigid and, as one of the best fighters of the Company, he as usual found himself towards the outskirts of the group and farthest from the warmth of the fire. Swearing in Khuzdul, he curled up tighter and wrapped the blankets around him until not even the top of his bald head was visible. After a moment he let out a sigh. It was no use. He was still freezing.

Resigned to a long, cold, sleepless night, he unrolled himself slightly and took a quick glance over the area. Everything seemed to be in order. All save Thorin, whose turn it was for watch, and the wizard, who had disappeared shortly after they stopped to make camp and had yet to reappear, seemed to be asleep. Dwalin glared jealously at the piles they had formed to ward off the cold. Dori, Nori and Ori were all curled together, with Ori safely held between his elder brothers. Similarly, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were wrapped around each other, Bofur’s loud snores a clear testament to their comfort. Glóin and Óin, near the perimeter of the group on the other side of the fire from Dwalin, were sleeping next to one another, though not cuddled together as the others. Neither would risk having their response to an attack delayed even by the mere seconds it would take to disentangle themselves. Even the Halfling had found warmth in the arms of the Kili and Fili.

Dwalin snorted and shook his head as he remembered the scene when they had first settled down, the brothers grabbing one arm each and pulling Bilbo down between them, ignoring Bilbo’s every stuttered – and obviously insincere – protest. The hobbit was still sadly unsure of his place in their Company, and not without reason. Dwalin was not proud of their treatment of the gentle-hearted lad when he’d first joined the group. He had proven them wrong a thousand times over, however, thank Aulë. Dwalin would forever be in the little one’s debt for saving the king, when he – who had been appointed to that very task by Thrain himself – could do naught but watch in horror.

Thorin sat on a rock next to the fire, back turned to the flames as he kept watch on their surroundings. His king’s eyes were far away, and his expression dark – a clear sign that he was once again brooding on the quest and the dragon at the end of it. Dwalin was tempted to go over and lend his king company, in the hopes of breaking him out of his mood, but when their eyes met it was clear that Thorin would not welcome his presence. Reassuring his king of his solitude with a single nod, Dwalin turned back to his study of the company. And his gaze landed on the one other dwarf left to his own devices, though it was worth pointing out _his_ spot was much closer to the fire than Dwalin’s own. There were few Dwalin would rather have in a fight than his elder brother, but Balin’s age and position as advisor to the king meant his place was the safety of the center of the group when possible. While Balin commonly argued against this, not being a dwarf to hide behind others, Dwalin had noticed that on frigid nights such as this, his brother’s protests were noticeably absent.

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed as he took in his brother’s comfortably warm location. Like Glóin and Óin, he was reluctant to delay his response to attack, and even more reluctant to leave his self-appointed position between his comrades and potential danger. But they had been reassured by the wizard that until they came to Mirkwood they would be safe enough – the hobbit hadn’t been the only one who noticed the large, shaggy bear following them from a distance as they traveled. And once they _did_ enter the forest, Dwalin knew that sleep would be even harder to come by.

A low snort from Thorin broke Dwalin out of his contemplation. “Just go. You’ll be of no use to anyone without sleep.”

“But –“

“Need I make it an order?”

Now it was Dwalin’s turn to grunt in amusement. “You could certainly try, my Lord.”

Thorin shook his head at Dwalin’s stubbornness, both in refusing to join his brother to sleep and in insisting upon referring to Thorin by his title, rather than by his name as Thorin had directed when their quest had first begun.

“Perhaps I’ll just claim the rest of your watch,” Dwalin continued, “and let you snuggle up with your nephews and their little burglar.”

Thorin just shook his head. “You have claimed one watch already,” he replied, refusing to acknowledge the second part of Dwalin’s jest. “And we are not lacking guards. I have seen the skin-changer roaming around in the far distance. If even half of what Gandalf has claimed of him is true, we will not be troubled by orc or warg this night. It would be wise to take advantage of his protection – even if it is meant more for his ponies than for us.”

Knowing Thorin was right, Dwalin finally gave in, though not without several muttered comments about hard-headed kings. He picked up his pack and bedroll and quietly walked over to where Balin laid. At his approach, his brother awoke, looking inquiringly up at him. “Is there trouble, brother?”

“Only this thrice-damned cold. Budge over,” he responded, pushing at Balin with one foot while he threw his roll onto the ground beside him.

“Wha… just what do you think you’re doing?” Balin asked, though keeping his voice down.

“Using you to keep myself from freezing to death. Now move.”

Dwalin settled down next to Balin, rearranging their blankets to better cover them both. “Ay! Watch those ice cubes you call feet, you oaf!”

“Stop your whining. Yours would be just as bad, if you weren’t cozied up so close to the fire I feared your beard might go up in flames.”

“Is a little courtesy so much to ask? Stop pulling at the blankets. You’ve more than your share already.”

“I’m bigger than you. It’s only fair that I get more of the blankets.”

“Fatter you mean. And I’ll grant you your head is a good bit bigger, full of hot air as it is.”

“It wasn’t I who needed help reaching the upper shelves at the skin-changer’s home.”

“If you put those blasted feet on my calves one more time, so help me, I’ll –“

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll show you the proper respect for your elders! I know for a fact Mother raised you better –”

“Don’t bring Mother into this! And I show you exactly as much respect as you deserve, oh ancient one. Just because you were born a few years –”

“You never show me any respect, you brat! And for the last time, let go of the covers!”

“You know, for some reason the two of you sound remarkably familiar.”

The unexpected voice broke Dwalin and Balin out of their argument. They looked up to find the eyes of all their companions on them, expressions set in varying combinations of amusement and irritation.

“Indeed, brother,” Fili agreed with a large grin on his face, identifying the first speaker as Kili, “though I’m not sure why.”

“It’s because they sound like a couple of bickering dwarflings, just like another set of brothers we all know,” Bofur replied, his own dimpled grin evident.

Fili and Kili both turned to regard the other dwarf. “You really shouldn’t speak so poorly of Óin and Glóin. They can be quite cranky when they’re mad.”

“Hush you two,” Bilbo murmured, glancing worriedly around at the rest of the dwarves. “It’s far too late for this nonsense. You should be sleeping.”

“But Bilbo,” the two whined, drawing out Bilbo’s name in a most irritating fashion, “it’s not our fault! It was Dwalin and Balin who started it.”

“Enough, all of you,” Thorin’s deep voice halted any further comments. “Our burglar is right. You all should be sleeping. Now.”

Not wanting to risk further aggravating their leader, the group settled down again into their piles, shifting around as they sought comfortable positions. The noise quieted as, one by one, they dropped off to sleep. Thorin found himself letting out a breath of relief.

Until he heard a quiet, but obviously angry voice mutter, “I said move your bloody feet!”  



	3. Grateful Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5429057#t5429057):  
> With Kili(and maybe Ori too) being slight for dwarfs, they have less protection against the weather than the more built or stocky dwarfs. At first it's not a problem, easily solved with extra layers, but as the journey goes on, clothes get damaged beyond repair and the air turns colder. Kili(and Ori) try to hide how cold they are, they don't complain, but it's hard to get a good night's sleep when you're shivering.
> 
> Huge bonus if the first person to clue in isn't a brother or uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I don’t own them I’m not making money from them._

It didn’t take Bilbo long to notice the problem but, to his shame, it did take him several days to come up with a solution. 

As they traveled through the Misty Mountains, the temperature dropping as their elevation increased and fires becoming few and far between in the hopes of avoiding detection from orcs or goblins, the conditions of the company in general deteriorated rapidly. 

Most of the dwarfs seemed to be able to ignore the cold and rain and general wretchedness that dogged their steps. Bilbo, however, being slighter and less use to hard travel then his companions, found himself wallowing in misery and self-pity. Much to his later dismay, as it delayed his realizing that not _all_ of the dwarves with which he traveled were as unbothered as he had thought.

It was not until one particularly gloomy evening, upon which the frigid temperatures were augmented by freezing winds and driving rain that the extreme distress of two in his company came to his attention. As uncomfortable as he was, he had given up sleeping for the night and had taken to glaring jealously at the dwarves around him who seemingly had no trouble ignoring the blasted weather and were all, save Balin who had the last watch of the night, curled up in their bedrolls asleep. Grumbling to himself, he had just decided to join Balin, as at least a bit of conversation would be better than lying there miserably in his sodden bedding, when his eyes fell upon Kíli.

Much to Bilbo’s surprise, it was obvious that the dwarf, who was lying near his dead-to-the-world brother and uncle, was having similar difficulties as himself. He watched for several minutes as Kíli tossed and turned, his body shivering so violently that Bilbo could see it from where he was sitting several feet away. Bilbo wasn’t sure why Kíli didn’t just request to sleep closer to Fíli, surely his brother wouldn’t begrudge him a bit of comfort. But then, Bilbo acknowledged to himself, he was hardly an expert when it came to dwarvish culture. Perhaps there was some sort of taboo against such things. 

He let his gaze slide along the rest of the group, and at first he thought he was perhaps correct, as he noted that Nori, Dori and Ori were also lying, while relatively close to each other, not close enough to share any heat between them even though Ori seemed to be suffering just as much as Kíli. Then Bilbo came to the pile that was Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, however, and that notion was quickly proven incorrect. The three brothers were lying practically on top of one another, and all were shoring their bedding equally from what he could tell. Which meant that whatever reason the others had for sleeping apart, it wasn’t cultural. 

Not able to quell his curiosity now it had gotten ahold of a mystery, Bilbo stood up and quietly walked over to join Balin. The elder dwarf greeted him with a nod of his head. “Good evening, Mister Baggins. Trouble sleeping?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s a truly dreadful night tonight. I don’t know how you dwarves are able to handle it so well.”

“We are a hardy folk, laddie,” Balin replied with a small, melancholy smile. “And since Erebor fell, we’ve become well used to life on the road and all the annoyances that come with it.”

“I see.” Bilbo took a nervous glance back at Kíli and Ori, then lowered his voice as he continued, “I noticed Bifur, Bofur and Bombur huddling together for warmth – a perfectly logical action. But I couldn’t help but wonder why K… none of the others did the same. Certainly, hardy though you may be, a bit of added warmth on nights such as this wouldn’t go amiss?”

Balin chuckled quietly. “You have much to learn about dwarves, Mister Baggins. We tend to be somewhat solitary creatures. Make no mistake, we treasure kin and comrades, but in general we require certain personal space to be comfortable, particularly when sleeping. Our miners are a bit strange in that regard.”

“Oh,” Bilbo huffed. Taking another look at the shivering forms of Kíli and Ori, he lowered his voice yet further, not wanting to risk either overhearing. “But Kíli and Ori are miserable! Surely, personal space or no, they would be far more comfortable closer to their kin. And I simply can’t believe that any of said kin would begrudge them that.”

“Nay, you are correct. But they are young, and trying to prove that they belong amongst us. Thorin was not keen on having Kíli along, thinking he was too young for the journey. And I suspect Dori and Nori were of the same opinion when it came to Ori. That’s left both of them with chips on their shoulders, I’m afraid. But they’ll ask for help before things get too bad, I’m sure.” 

“They shouldn’t have to ask! It is unfathomable that –“

“To step in unasked would be to question their strength and endurance, as well as making clear that their maturity and capability to know when to ask for help was in doubt.” 

“That is the most absur-“ Bilbo bit his tongue to prevent himself from finishing his thoughts, and potentially insulting Balin. His frown made it obvious that he disagreed most strongly with what he had been told, however.

“Don’t worry yourself too much. Hurt feelings aside, Thorin and Dori will step in before the lads’ situation becomes too dire.”

 _It has already become too dire._ Bilbo thought to himself. He took a deep breath and released it slowly while counting down from ten, forcing himself to calm down. “Well, that is good to know,” he said, wincing when his voice came out harsher than he had intended. “Thank you for explaining things to me,” he added more affably, genuinely grateful to the seemingly always patient the dwarf.

“Not at all,” Balin replied. The two continued to talk in quiet voices the until dawn started to break on the horizon, at which point Bilbo started to pack up his things in preparation for the day’s travels.

******

Three days later, and Bilbo knew he had to do something. He could not in good conscious continue to watch the two young dwarves suffer so. But he knew if he simply offered to sleep beside them, or suggested to Thorin that someone else do so, neither of them would forgive him. He didn’t rule out these options, as he would much rather them alive and healthy and upset with him then sick or, even worse, dead from exposure. Finally he struck upon a plan that he thought might just work. True it would mean demeaning himself in front of Thorin and the others, but quite frankly Bilbo doubted that their opinions of him - Thorin’s in particular – had much more room to lower. There was little then to lose, in reality, and potentially a good deal to gain. And in all honesty, Bilbo himself was becoming tired of being wet and cold and barely getting any sleep at night. While he would have tried to hold out longer before speaking up had it only been his own welfare at stake, he would have eventually said something regardless. 

And so, girding himself for the upcoming battle he knew he would face, when they settled down for camp that night he resolutely approached Thorin.

“Ah, excuse me, Thorin,” he spoke up, forcing himself to meet the piercing eyes of the king but not being able to keep the rest of him from fidgeting nervously.

“What is it, hobbit?” 

“I was hoping that I might have a word with you. If it’s not too much trouble, that is?”

“You are always more trouble than you are worth. But go on, have your word.”

“Right. Well, you see, the thing is –“

“Say your piece or leave me be. I cannot tolerate your pitiful mewling.”

“Yes. Of course. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we hobbits… aren’t really very used to harsh conditions, at least not without having a nice ceiling over our heads and a fire in the hearth.”

“Your incessant whining has made that very clear to all of us, halfling. I still await your point.”

“I’ve been having some… difficulties sleeping of late, with the colder and wetter weather we’ve been experiencing. I was rather hoping… if it’s not too much trouble that is… that I might be allowed to… er… set up my bedroll closer to one or two of you dwarves than may be completely proper under normal circumstances. For sharing of body heat only, mind you! I just fear that I may fall ill if I do not soon get a full night’s sleep, and I would not wish to delay the company further than I may have already.”

Thorin regarded Bilbo stonily. “You wish to huddle. For warmth.”

“Yes. Only if there are any that wouldn’t mind too terribly much. I don’t want to put anyone out. But it would be much appreciated.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

“Perhaps… perhaps the younger dwarves?” Bilbo continued, stumbling over his words in his nervousness. “They do seem to mind my presence… a bit less? Again, only if they would not mind.”

“Kíli, Fíli, Ori,” Thorin called out, bringing the attention of all the company to he and Bilbo.

“Yes, Uncle?” Fíli replied, as the three younger dwarves moved towards Thorin.

“It seems Mister Baggins is too cold at night to sleep,” Thorin sneered, though after weeks of being sneered at by the dwarf, Bilbo rather thought he didn’t seem to have his heart in it at the moment. “I expect you three to stay close to him tonight and prevent it from becoming an issue. We don’t have time to nurse a sick hobbit.”

Leveling a frown at Thorin, Bilbo then turned to the other three. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” he assured them apologetically. “I would be most grateful to you, but I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, or cause you to lose sleep just so I may gain it.”

“Not to worry, Mister Baggins,” Kíli replied, throwing an arm around the hobbit’s shoulders. “We’d consider it an honor to keep our burglar comfortable and well rested.”

Thorin released a derisive snort at that, but simply walked away rather than commenting. Bilbo sent a silent prayer of thanks to Yavanna for her mercy.

And that night, when he found himself warmly sandwiched between Kíli and Ori, with Fíli on Kíli’s other side and none of them shivering in the slightest, Bilbo allowed himself a smug grin in Thorin’s direction before snuggling back in and falling asleep.


	4. Come Not Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fill for [this prompt](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5452609#t5452609):
> 
> I just finished the book again, and the way Thranduil looked Bilbo...
> 
> I would love to read Bilbo coming back to the shire sad and alone, after the BoFA. Of course, Thorin and Fíli & Kíli survived. Then, when he walks near Mirkwood, the elves found him. Thranduil sees that his opportunity to keep that lovely and pure halfling that gave away the Arkenstone.  While, at Erebor, words arrive to King Thorin that Thranduil is saying around that he won a jewel better than the Arkenstone. Possessive and jealous Thorin happens then... ^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I’m not making money from them._
> 
> **Prequel is now up (WIP) and can be found[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/660336).**
> 
>  
> 
> _Author’s Notes: Shameless. Completely shameless. Also, Thranduil is quite possibly out of character, depending on how you see his character. I’m working more with the side he presents at the end (per the prompt) when looking at Bilbo with wonder and trying to convince Bilbo to stay with him. Consider yourself warned._

_"Four things come not back: The spoken word, The sped arrow, The past life, The neglected opportunity."_ _~ Arabian Proverb_

 

Relations between the elves of Mirkwood and the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain had improved only slightly after the dwarves’ reclamation of Erebor. Thorin, now truly King Under the Mountain, was reluctant to forgive what he perceived as the betrayal of his people by the wood elves. He could not ignore, however, the fact that it was only thanks to the healing knowledge of the King of Eryn Galen that his nephews had survived the wounds they suffered during the Battle of Five Armies.

In the three years since the battle, he had settled into a philosophy of ignoring the problem as much as possible, letting Balin, his most trusted and level-headed advisor, or Kíli and Fíli, who had managed to strike up something of a friendship – if a long-distance one with all of them tied down by their responsibilities – with Thranduil’s son, deal with the elves whenever he could. Royal correspondence between the realms was also dealt with by the Balin, with Thorin only skimming and signing the responses sent in his name. He trusted his longtime friend to alert him if there was any news which should concern him.

And so he found himself surprised when the official request had come from Thranduil for a specially commissioned circlet of mithril for his soon-to-be consort along with an invitation to the crowning of said consort…

…though no name for the future consort was given. 

****** 

The dwarves arrived in Eryn Galen the day before the ceremony. Given the importance of the event, Thorin himself had made the journey, along with Kíli and Fíli and a mid-sized retinue of guards. Balin remained in Erebor, assiting Dís in ruling the kingdom while Thorin was gone. Thorin himself carried the mithril circlet Thranduil had requested, made by the best craftsmen in Erebor.

They were warmly greeted in the receiving hall by Legolas. “Your Majesty,” he welcomed Thorin, bowing. “We are glad to see that your journey here was without trouble.” Then he turned a mischievous grin on the dwarven princes. “Save, perhaps, for that which you brought with you.”

“Hey!”

Thorin merely grunted with a slight nod acknowledging Legolas’ greeting. Kíli and Fíli, meanwhile, had moved to embrace the elf. Thorin turned his head from the display, instead studying the metal and jewel work present in the hall.

“Come,” Legolas gestured towards the door after the princes had finished their greetings. “I will take you to my fathers.”

“Fathers?” Fíli asked, as the three dwarves followed the elf. “You refer to this mysterious consort that your father has yet to give name to, at least to us?”

“Aye,” Legolas nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable. “The King… has his reasons for his actions. Bi… his intended is a remarkable… being. Pure of heart and generous of spirit. I am quite pleased with the choice; he has become family in the two years he has been with us.”

A dark suspicion had begun to form in Thorin’s mind, but he pushed it to the side. Surely, an elf as overbearing and contemptuous as Thranduil would never – 

“Here we are,” Legolas interrupted Thorin’s thoughts as he opened the door leading to the royal wing of the palace. “If you will wait in here in the foreroom, I’ll let them know you are here.”

Legolas started to move towards one of the doors leading off the drawing room. The door itself was only partially closed, however, and suddenly a terribly familiar voice came from within the room behind it.

“I don’t believe you invited them here!” Thorin froze in place for a moment, then started moving towards the chamber from which the voice originated, picking up speed as he went, with Kíli and Fíli close behind him.

“I thought you would be pleased to see your former companions again, and for them to share in this time of joy,” Thranduil replied. Thorin barely recognized the King’s voice, never having heard it contain any emotion save anger. Now the affection in it was clear even to his ears.

The owner of the first voice – who could not possibly be who Thorin thought he was – snorted. “If I actually believed that was why you invited them, I would be pleased. Both at the chance to visit with them and at you for finally letting bygones be bygones and acting like an elf your age should.” There was a brief pause, and Thorin did not want to imagine what was happening during that time. Then the voice continued, “I know you better than that, my love. You invited them here, invited _Thorin_ here, for one reason and one reason only. To gloat.”

“It is hardly my fault that the dwarf let threw away such a priceless treasure.”

“I was never the treasure he sought and longed for. Not truly.”

“The most damning proof of his foolishness. He may keep the heart of his mountain. I wish him luck finding happiness with it. I want for only the loving heart of my hobbit.”

“Fathers?” Legolas called out, moving to block the dwarves from the room. Thorin was tempted to draw Orcrist. “The delegation from Erebor has arrived. And is waiting just here to greet you both. Now.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, then a quiet, “Oh, bother.”

Then the door to the inner chamber opened fully and out they stepped, Thranduil in his usual distant, solemn glory and at his side, standing far too close to be proper and with one arm of the woodland King wrapped possessively around him, Bilbo Baggins. He was dressed in elvish finery, a pale blue tunic that brought out his eyes and dark grey leggings. His hair was the same riot of chaotic curls that the dwarves remembered. On a chain around his neck he wore a signet ring – they assumed it would be moved to his hand once he officially became consort.

“King Thorin, princes,” Thranduil acknowledged the visitors with a slight nod of his head.

Bilbo bowed, “Your majesty. Highnesses. It is good to see you all once more.”

“Bilbo!” Kíli and Fíli cried, rushing to embrace the hobbit, displacing Thranduil’s arm. 

“I can’t believe we’ve found you here of all places!” Kíli exclaimed, pulling back with a large smile on his face.

“We visited your old home in the Shire, but were told you’d run off on another adventure, less than a year after you’d arrived back,” Fíli continued.

“And it was _quite_ the adventure, it seems.” Kíli gave the blushing hobbit a sly wink. Fíli meanwhile cast a worried look at the still frozen Thorin.

“You’ve brought the crown?” Thranduil asked Thorin, ignoring the reunion happening beside him.

“Yes,” Thorin grunted, setting down the small pack he had carried and taking the circlet from it.

A small gasp drew both of their attentions. “It beautiful,” Bilbo murmured. “But so regal. I’ll surely look like a fool playing dress-up wearing it.”

“It is beautiful,” Thranduil agreed, wrapping his arm back around Bilbo and drawing him close. “It will suit you perfectly.”

The elven King then turned his head towards Thorin, “My thanks,” he said, while reaching out to take the circlet. Thorin released it, grumbling, “Most welcome,” after being prodded by Fíli’s elbow.

Thranduil handed the circlet to Legolas, instructing, “Place this in the chest, so it is ready for tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“Immediately,” he replied with a bow. 

“And show our guests to their rooms.”

“Yes, my king.” Legolas then turned to the dwarves. “Come, friends. There will be time to speak with Bilbo later, after you have had a chance to rest from your travels,” he added when he was apparent that all three were hesitant to leave.

“Go on,” Bilbo told them, curling into Thranduil’s side. “I’ll see you this evening at dinner.”

“We’ll hold you to that,” Kíli answered, discretely pushing Thorin towards the door with his brother. “And we expect to hear all about your adventures since you left Erebor!”

“Yes,” Fíli included, “surely you have a tale or two to tell.”

“It’s a promise,” Bilbo agreed, smiling widely. “Though I fear you will be disappointed. I’m afraid my travels prior to arriving here were mostly without trouble.”

“And yet mostly still leaves some trouble to discuss,” Kíli retorted as the three dwarves exited the room.

“Go on, you scamps,” Bilbo laughed. “Baths will be waiting for you. When I can’t smell you from across the room, we will discuss what little trouble I’ve met since our parting.”

Without further comment, Thranduil firmly shut the door, leaving the party gazing at it.

“Come,” Legolas gently called, “let me take you to your rooms.”

Slowly the dwarves followed him until they reached the rooms they had been given for their stay. Thorin entered his room without saying anything to the others, the door closing behind him sharply, leaving the three princes wincing.

Once safely behind the closed door, Thorin dropped the pack he carried to the floor without thought. Hands hanging limply at his side, he stood motionless for many hours, contemplating treasures lost and found.


	5. Fathers Did Bury Their Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt on the kink meme that I can no longer find (cookies for anyone who can send me the link) wherein Bilbo is Thorin's son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I’m not making money from them._
> 
>  
> 
> _Author’s Notes: You all need to stop it with the inspiring prompts. Seriously. Stop. I do not need any more projects on my plate. I mean it._

_“Croesus said to Cambyses; That peace was better than war; because in peace the sons did bury their fathers, but in wars the fathers did bury their sons”_  
 _~ Francis Bacon, Sr. (1672-1719)_

 

When word finally came to Gandalf of the passing of one of his dearest friends’ mate, he did his best to quickly tidy up the business in which he had been engaged and make his way to the Shire. Even so, by the time he arrived it had been nearly two years since the death of Bungo Baggins and Gandalf was quite worried as to in what state – if any at all – he would find Belladonna.

His fears only increased when, upon arriving at Bag End, he was told quite brusquely by one Ruby Baggins that Belladonna was no longer in residence. After a bit of… convincing… she admitted that Belladonna had moved to Tuckborough not long after Bungo had passed, selling Bag End to Fosco Baggins before she left.

It is therefore not surprising that his shock was immense when, upon knocking on the blue door of a smial on the southeastern edge of Tuckborough near the Blue Hill Country, he found himself greeted by a whole and relatively healthy hobbit. Yes, the pall of grieving still hung heavy about her, but compared to what he had expected to find – well, at times it was definitely pleasant to be mistaken.

Then he was invited in, and found himself peering down at a decidedly un-hobbit – or at least not entirely hobbit – babe sitting on the floor atop a soft mat, surrounded by various stuffed animals. Gandalf turned to peer down at Belladonna, who was nervously fidgeting as she watched the wizard regard her child. “What have you done, Belladonna Took?”

“Nothing for which I will be made to feel ashamed,” she replied, chin turned stubbornly upwards as she stared at him in defiance, her Took spirit on display. “Bilbo saved my life. I would have quickly followed after Bungo had it not been for this little one.” She grinned down at the child, who was busy staring at the tall stranger with piercing blue eyes.

“But your marriage to Bungo…”

Belladonna glared up at Gandalf, eyes blazing with fury. “I _never_ bedded anyone save Bungo while he lived. I was ever true to him; I cannot believe you would suggest otherwise!”

“Then explain to me how you have come to bear a child that is distinctly dwarven in nature?” Gandalf demanded, gesturing to the child with bones too solid, hair already too thick and nose too large for any hobbit.

Belladonna’s fury calmed slightly, though the air of disappointment that followed hurt Galdalf far more. “It was one night, Gandalf,” she sighed. “A month after Bungo died. I was set to follow after him myself, so deeply into despair had I fallen. His family and mine both had me watched nearly constantly to try to prevent such, but it did them little good. I always have excelled at slipping away unseen.

“Early that afternoon I left Bag End, the home that my husband had built for me, unable to stay there a single moment longer, and I began walking. I continued on, not ever meaning to return, though I didn’t intentionally plan such; I just had to get away from all the memories of the happy times –“ Belladonna had to pause here, as tears began streaming from her eyes. Bilbo let out several low cries, as if trying to ask her what was wrong, then turned to glare at the strange man who was upsetting his mother. Belladonna let out a tearful laugh at that, and she sat down next to her son to pick him up, hugging him tightly. “It’s all right, Bilbo love. Gandalf isn’t hurting me, I promise.”

Bilbo seemingly remained unconvinced; in any case, his angry eyes didn’t leave Gandalf.

“I fear that I _am_ upsetting you, Belladonna,” the wizard said, moving to sit down in a chair next to the mat. “And for that I apologize. But I would hear the rest of your story, if you don’t mind telling it.”

Belladonna shrugged, “Of course, though I imagine you’ve guessed at most of it. As I said, I walked off one afternoon. I hadn’t been taking proper care of myself, not eating or sleeping properly as I mourned, and so eventually I could force my body no farther. I collapsed into unconsciousness on the side of the road, and assumed I’d finally be back with Bungo again. When I awoke, much to my shock and dismay, it was to find myself lying on the ground at the side of a fire, wrapped in soft furs that smelled of smoke and metal.”

Belladonna stopped her tale again, staring down at the floor unseeingly for several moments while she absently stroked Bilbo’s hair. Then she looked back up, and met Gandalf’s gaze squarely with her own. 

“I wanted to die that night, Gandalf. Hobbit I may be, but I was fading assure as if I were an elf. And then there was this… this _dwarf_ , rude and unruly, taking care of me despite my wishes and scoffing at my ‘foolish tears’ when I railed at him for saving me from the death I had so desired. I saw it in his eyes, then. He had also suffered loss, and I know now that his was the harsher of our two, though we neither of us spoke of our heartaches at the time. We gave comfort to each other that night. Come morning, we both agreed to go our separate ways with no thought of any ties between us. I returned to the Shire and was ambushed by my sister before I reached Bag End. She had stopped in to check on me, and had panicked when I wasn’t there. She had had Father turn out all of Tuckborough to search for me. The watch upon me became even tighter; by the time my family relaxed their guard, I had realized I was with child and set my mind to doing as well by him as I might.”

“Who is the father?”

“He named himself Thorin, son of Thrain.” Gandalf could not help starting in surprise at that. “I see you know of him,” she smirked. “The name meant nothing to me at the time, though I have of course come to know of his importance since.” 

Gandalf studied Belladonna for several moments. “You do not intend to tell him of his son.”

“No,” Belladonna confirmed, shaking her head. “We agreed there would be no ties between us. He has two fine heirs in his sister-sons. I see no need to concern him with the matter, particularly as his people would never accept him having a half-hobbit son.”

“And do you expect Bilbo to be any more accepted amongst hobbits? You will not be able to pass him off as a son of Bungo for long. How do you think the Sackville-Bagginses, or the Proudfoots will treat him, when they realize he is half dwarf?”

“My family already knows the truth, and they love Bilbo regardless. He will not be accepted by the Shire as a whole, no, but he will have all the love and support of the Took Family, and likely a good portion of the Brandybuck.”

“Will you at least tell your son the truth?”

“Yes, I plan to do so as soon as he is old enough to understand. As you said; it will be obvious that he is different. I do not want him to not know the why behind that difference, or to have another, who would be less kind, tell the story behind his birth.”

Belladonna once more met Gandalf’s eyes, making a pledge to him and to her son. “He will know both sides of his heritage, Gandalf. Or at least as well as I can teach him. I have already started to gather what books I can on dwarves and their culture.”

“I may be able to assist you with that,” Gandalf offered, finally sitting himself down in a chair next to mother and child. “I dare not teach him Khuzdul, for the dwarves guard their language most fiercely, and react poorly to outsiders knowing it. But I can teach him of the history of the dwarves in general, and of his line in particular. I actually have some familiarity with them.”

Belladonna smiled up at him gratefully, while skillfully working her hair out of the strong grasp of her son. “My sincere thanks, Gandalf; that would be wonderful. A lad can never have too many uncles, you know.”

******

And so the years went by. Bilbo grew up amongst his Took cousins, and the odd Brandybuck, though he developed slower than they did; Belladonna assumed it was due to the increased life spans of dwarves. Still, he was never at a loss for playmates, and the hills around Tuckborough rang with the laughter of their adventures. 

She was careful to keep him away from the more conservative Shire residents, for she heard the vicious whispers that followed her and would not subject her son to them. But her family protected and supported them, and that was enough.

When Bilbo reached ten years of age, Belladonna sat him down and told him of his father. Ever curious, he had had what seemed like an endless stream of questions before he asked for privacy in which to digest what he had learned. For the next several months he was more subdued than usual, and took to avoiding his cousins. The Tooks had all known what Belladonna had planned, however, and explained the situation to their own children, as well as advising them that no, Bilbo did not think he was better than them, but instead was worried that they wouldn’t want to play – pardon, go on _adventures_ – with him knowing he was not fully a hobbit.

Most – though not all – accepted this new information fairly easily. There were a handful who stopped coming to visit, and another small group who were wary of him initially upon learning the truth of his parentage, but for the most part there was only one real change in the behavior of his playmates towards Bilbo, which he eventually just came to resignedly accept; he would forever be cast as the dwarf in any of their games that required one from that point forward.

At fifteen Belladonna and Gandalf, who had taken to visiting once or twice a year after Bilbo’s tenth birthday, always with fantastic stories and books, took Bilbo to a nearby Ranger camp. Lessons were agreed upon in short order. From that point until his mother passed when he was thirty-five, Bilbo would spend late fall through early spring in the Shire with her. The rest of the year was spent with the Rangers, learning tracking and fighting – Bilbo found that thanks to his small stature and light feet he favored using two long knives in battle, though he also did fairly well with the bow – and foraging among other skills of the wild, as well as blacksmithing from the ironsmith of the Angle. He even received lessons in healing when Elladan and Elrohir, twin sons of Lord Elrond who tended to travel with various Ranger groups hunting orcs and other evils, were in residence. 

It was safe to say that Bilbo was quite unlike any other hobbit who ever had come before him. According to Belladonna, he was the near exact image of his father, if a few inches shorter. Bilbo was taller than typical hobbits, however; at four and a half feet he topped even his great-Uncle Bullroarer’s stature. His bone structure was thick where most hobbits were slim-boned and his nose was a good deal larger than any hobbit on record. While his feet were more hobbit-like than not, he did not have the aversion to shoes that most hobbits shared and tended, when not in the Shire, to wear boots if only to keep from standing out. 

Most of his hair was kept short in the style of hobbits and laid in a mess of curls about his head, though they tended to get quite long between trimmings. In deference to his father’s people, he wore four braids at the front of his head; two on either side of his head, starting at his temples. One set of braids were woven in front of his ears, the other wound down behind, and all had a number of beads braided into them, to the point where they would click together as he walked if he was not careful. He had two that his mother had carved for him; one when she first told him of his father and the other when he reached his majority. Gandalf, too, had given him a bead for his thirty-third birthday made of an iridescent metal Bilbo had never seen before. Elladan and Elrohir had each given him one after he had passed through his first battle with the Rangers – and assisted with the healing that had come after. And then there were those from his cousins, and later his nieces and nephews, who had taken to the tradition with great fervor. Granted, most of these beads were childishly decorated and not the best made, but he treasured them still. 

His beard started coming in when he was twenty, but remained little more than a dusting; no one was sure if this was because of his hobbit heritage or his young – for a dwarf – age.

His training and tendency to split time between the Shire and the Angle were the most significant points of difference, however. As they aged, even the most adventurous of Tooks tended to settle down into respectability. Bilbo, on the other hand, became less and less so. He would spend large portions of every year off on adventures, then would suddenly appear in the Shire again with outrageous stories with which to enthrall the braver children. He had at least one weapon on him at all times, even when at home, and he dressed and looked far more scruffy than any self-respecting hobbit would stand.

The Tooks, by and large, didn’t mind his odd behaviors. They were used to the majority of their neighbors thinking them a bit off, and most of them took great joys in living vicariously through Bilbo’s experiences. That he could keep otherwise uncontrollably mischievous children entertained and out of trouble for hours on end with his stories helped keep their opinions on him positive. The rest of the Shire had come to be resigned to his presence. Some still whispered about him behind his back, or to his face in certain instances, but most just did their best to ignore him.

Life continued on, as it tends to do, until Bilbo turned thirty-five years old. It was then that Belladonna finally joined her dear Bungo. At that point, most of the cousins Bilbo’s age had started to settle down and talk of families, but he himself no interest in doing so himself. He began to spend more and more time out with the Rangers, until he tended to only spend two or three weeks a year in the Shire. 

He had, on several occasions, considered selling his smial and moving to the Angle year-round, but he had many good memories there. And there was something in the Shire that called to him. He enjoyed spending time, however limited, with his family amongst the green, fertile land of his mother’s people. It lightened up his soul, which otherwise was weighed down from seeing evil encroach ever deeper on the rest of Middle Earth while he was mostly helpless to stop it.

And so it was thanks only to luck – or the lack thereof – that a fifty year old Bilbo found himself at home in Tuckborough when Gandalf, whose visits had reduced in frequency after Belladonna’s death until they finally stopped all together, decided to once again come calling.

******

Bilbo was in front of his smial, enjoying the sunlight and a good smoke when Gandalf came upon him. Sensing a presence, Bilbo opened his eyes, “Gandalf,” he greeted, nodding his head, “how are you doing on this fine day?”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf replied, taking in the hobbit’s unusually trim and muscular form and the two daggers that hung on either side of his weapon belt. “I am as fine as can be expected, thank you.”

“And what can I do for you then?” Bilbo asked, taking a long pull from his pipe and releasing a large smoke ring into the air. “As I doubt this is a social visit.”

“No, indeed I am here looking for a hobbit to take on an adventure.”

A twisted smile appeared on Bilbo’s face. Gandalf’s visits coming to a halt had hurt Bilbo, who had looked upon the wizard as something of a grandfather. Bilbo understood that Gandalf had many responsibilities, especially with the darkness swiftly gaining strength as it had been in recent years, but for him to not keep in touch in _any_ way… well, Bilbo was not planning on opening up his heart again to the wizard. “A hobbit, or a half-hobbit?”

Gandalf’s own smile dimmed a bit at the cool response. “Indeed, I did come to the Shire hoping to find you here. Would you be willing to help your father take back his home, Bilbo my lad?”

Bilbo’s breath froze in his chest, and his heartbeat became thunderous in his ears. Calling upon his training, he forced himself back to something resembling calm, then regarded Gandalf stonily. “Tell me of this… adventure.”

******

Several hours later, Gandalf left the smial, heart wearied by the distance that Bilbo had kept between them, not that he blamed the lad. Still, it had been good to see him grown so well, though still a young lad by dwarf standards. He exuded a sense of calm confidence, similar to the regal bearing of his father, and had quickly regained himself even after Gandalf had told him said father would be visiting the next night. He had the down-to-earth common sense of a hobbit, the curiosity of a Took, and the stubborn determination of a dwarf.

Gandalf scratched the rune into Bilbo’s door, then started down the road that would take him back to where most of the company waited. He paused before he had moved too far, however, and turned back to consider the hole in front of him and the hobbit therein. 

“Bilbo Baggins; son of a hobbit and dwarf, raised by men and elves… what changes _will_ you bring to this world?”

******

Bilbo spent the next day preparing for his guests and cursing Gandalf, whatever mother he might have had, and any children he might have sired.

As he lived on his own, and did not generally spend long periods of time in the Shire, his pantry was rather empty. He thus first went to the markets and bought enough food to – well, feed thirteen dwarves – and paid a group of children to help him carry it all back to his hole. Then he began to cook and clean, trying to keep himself busy enough to ignore the ice building up in his chest at the thought of Thorin Oakenshield, his _father_ , actually being in his home. He wondered if he would be recognized. He wondered if he would blurt out the truth on his own. He wondered if it was too late to make a run for the Angle.

Then night was falling, and it was too late to run, though he still considered it briefly when the first knock came at his door. Gathering his courage, he proceeded to make his way to the door and open it, taking in the large, bald dwarf standing on the other side.

“Dwalin son of… by Durin’s beard. It cannae be!” said dwarf, Dwalin, Bilbo reminded himself, cried when he looked up and took in the hauntingly familiar appearance of the hobbit in front of him.

“You must be one of the dwarves that Gandalf mentioned would be arriving,” Bilbo greeted, ignoring the dwarf’s outburst. He bowed low. “Bilbo, son of Belladonna, at your service.”

Dwalin regarded him with a piercing gaze. “Son of Belladonna and…?”

A bittersweet smile appeared on Bilbo’s face. “I suspect you may already have guessed, Master Dwalin. But I beg you, let me hold off on my tale until the rest of your company arrives. I would rather tell it only once.”

“All right, laddie,” Dwalin reluctantly agreed. “But I willnae wait a second longer.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo nodded his head, then stepped aside and motioned the dwarf into his home. “Welcome. Please, make yourself at home. The dining room is right here to your left; Gandalf mentioned that you lot were likely to be hungry.”

“Aye, he did promise us that there would be food a plenty to be found this evening. As well as a hobbit, though he gave no further information or warning.”

“I have found that Gandalf has a great appreciation for secrets; at least when he is in the know,” Bilbo replied with a rueful grin. “Meddlesome wizard that he is.”

“Indeed, so it would seem.” Dwalin moved then to the dining room and, at Bilbo’s insistence, began to eat.

That interaction more or less set the cast for the others of the night. Dwarf, or dwarves, knocks on door, sees Bilbo, demands explanation, then sits down at the table and starts stuffing his face after Bilbo begs to wait to tell his story. Gandalf, who had come in with the largest and most recent group of dwarves, had the gall to chuckle at the combination of gobsmacked dwarf and frazzled dwobbit. Bilbo was not amused, and threatened to thrown him out again, his fierce glare causing more than one dwarf to shake their head in disbelief.

With each new arrival that was not Thorin, Bilbo’s nerves tightened another notch. By the end of the night he could not eat for fear of his upset stomach, and still Thorin had not arrived. Then, finally, after most of the food had been eaten and the dwarves were settling down for after-meal smokes and drinks, there came another knock on the front door.

Fourteen heads turned towards the door, and Bilbo’s hands started to sweat as he shakily rose from his seat in a corner of the room where he had been observing these people with whom he shared half his heritage. He took a deep breath and gathered himself then moved confidently to answer the door.

Gandalf had gotten there first, however. Which Bilbo wound up being thankful for, because it was to Gandalf that Thorin first looked when the door opened, which gave Bilbo s few seconds to re-gather himself when his legs decided turning to jelly would be the proper way to greet a father one had never known.

“Gandalf,” Thorin grumbled as he moved into the front hall, “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I got lost… twice on… my…” His words trailed off as his eyes fell on Bilbo, and he quickly took in the familiar features worn by the younger being before him.

Bilbo took another breath, then bowed. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service… Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yes, I’m ending there. I’m considering this a completed one-shot. I leave it to you to decide Thorin's reaction, and whether or not he allows his young son to join their quest, knowing how dangerous it will be. Apologies, but I have too many other stories in the works right now._


End file.
